


Lullaby of woe

by Likorys



Series: Geraskier week 2020 [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But the ending is hopeful?, Gen, Geralt tries to keep Ciri safe, I think?, There is a cat, and a zmora, and much sadness, and nightmares, from a certain point of view, the Charater Death is not premanent actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likorys/pseuds/Likorys
Summary: Geralt's trying to keep himself and Ciri and the stray cat she clings to safe. But the girl has nightmares that shatter glass so they need money to keep moving, so Geralt is forced to leave for a hunt.He comes back to screams, then a song, then a zmora and an old-new friend.[Inspired by tumblr post by witchersjaskier]
Series: Geraskier week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636678
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Lullaby of woe

Geralt lived a century and thought himself used to the world around changing, the only shift being the deaths of more and more witchers, the knowledge to make more of them lost. He had the comfort of distance, soulmark burned from his skin during the mutations, if he even had one, and no humans brave nor foolish enough to get close to him. Especially after Blaviken.

Then he met Jaskier, so human and so lively that Geralt let him warm his way into his heart despite his fears of the obvious fact that humans die and he will be left with heartache and grief and stone grave to visit.

In the end, he didn’t even get that.

He found Ciri near Yoruga, scared and dirty and with a stray cat never leaving her lap like it was sewn into her clothes. Her screams shattered all the windows when Geralt tried to separate them for a bath, so he let it be.

For Ciri, not for the bright, icy eyes that seemed to be on Geralt whenever he looked at the little black thing.

It took weeks before he coaxed even a word from her, about how she got there. When he did, he had a selfish moment of regretted it, as his heart broke into pieces.

He heard all about a gold-haired bard that would spend every winter in Cintra, telling her stories about monsters and singing her to sleep. About the time he came to stay for much longer and how he would only show himself to her, making her wonder if he was imagined sometimes. How he seemed to slowly wither away during his stays, dying off like remnants of the fire left alone with no wood. About the time he vanished, exactly as Geralt was locked in the cell in Cintra before war let him out.

“He was real, you know.” Ciri looks at him, half of her face hidden in black fur. Her eyes are wide and haunted, her voice raw. “H-he came when I-” she chokes on a word and Geralt rubs her back, letting her lean against his side.

They’re in a small cabin. It’s the start of the summer and they’re hiding here from the heat that makes long travel to harsh for a small girl.

“When I-I stole their horse.” she drags on, curling around the cat who’s as silent as it always it, despite the tight hold probably hurting. The silence unnerves Geralt, the thing never even purrs, but his medallion is still and the cat never even scratched anyone. “Th-the body stayed, l-like the o-others. It wo-wouldn’t if he wa-wasn’t real, r-right?” she twists, sobbing as much into his elbow as she does into black fur.

The cat is glaring at him, so Geralt pulls Ciri onto his lap to stroke back, kissing at her hair and muttering agreements and promises that _of course it was real_. Even when all he wishes for is to refuse, her and the whole world that would deem it fair to kill the one good thing in Geralt’s life before he had a chance to fix what he broke.

It might he just what he deserved, but he hates the thought of Jaskier paying for his mistakes.

He knows how Ciri was found, the slaughtered bodies between the reeds, in a random swamp. He hopes at least the death was quick and nothing of Jaskier lingers.

Ciri has nightmares. They come and go, but it’s especially bad now, because in the dry heat of summer came a weak storm and the lightning that struck trees by their home. Geralt was awoken by scrams that made his teeth ring, but run out to douse the flames first. Later, he found Ciri standing by a window, her eyes hollow and unseeing, the cat perched on her arms and looking ready to slice Geralt to pieces. He wanted to let him, when it took the whole night to bring Ciri to even look at him.

Nightmares come ever night after that and might be what finally made her talk. Geralt, selfishly, wishes she didn’t and hates himself for it.

He needs-

 _Well_. What he needs is Jaskier alive, but since that is impossible, he will do with some time alone. They need provisions and money as well, to keep heading to Kaer Morhen and evade Nilfgaard.

When Geralt leaves Ciri to go find a contract, it still feels every much like the betrayal is must be for her.

“I’ll return,” he promises, dropping a kiss to her head.

The cat climbs onto her arm and scratches at his skin, baring fangs, but still without a sound. Geralt looks it over, but it’s the picture of innocence as it rubs its black head at Ciri’s wet cheek, so he lets it slide and just wipes the blood from the cut.

“It won’t even have time to heal before I’m back. Promise,” he adds, pats Ciri on the back and leaves.

He hurries back as soon as he can, only a week later, but with enough provisions to let them set out again. He barely reached the forest before the screams reach him and start running.

They quiet down before he reached the house, but are replaced with a muted sound.

A lute, a softly singing voice and a melody he heard Ciri hum as he would calm her dawn after nightmares.

He forces himself to be quiet, sneaking inside.

_Wolves asleep amidst the trees_

_Bats all a swaying in the breeze_

He stalks through the room, looking around, but finds nothing suspicious. A bucket full of shards of glass broken with Ciri’s screams, but nothing more.

_But one soul lies anxious wide awake_

_Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths_

_For your Ciri, dearie, sleep has flown_

_Don't dare let her tremble alone.  
_

He reaches her room and takes a moment to breathe, fingers tight on the silver sword. His medallion is still as ever, but that let him down a few times.

He can’t risk Ciri, but he can’t let himself get confused with old memories either.

The sound of lute rings in his ears as he opens the door.

_But the witcher, heartless, cold_

_Paid in coin of gold_

_He comes, he'll go, leave naught behind_

_But heartache and woe_

_Deep, deep woe._

The zmora is sitting on Ciri’s chest. Its hair shines like golden spirals and moves with every sung lyric. The full-blue eyes are sunken into ghostly pale skin, cold as ice and somehow still zeroing on Geralt from the moment he lays his own eyes upon the monster. The fingers end in black claws, sharp as the strum at the strings of a lute on its lap.

_My Ciri, dearie, shut your eyes_

_Lie still, lie silent utter no cries_

The voice rings in the air, hypnotic as it worms into the brain. Geralt’s immune enough, to its magic at least, but it’s not the magic bringing him to his knees, forcing tears from his eyes.

_As the witcher, brave and bold_

_Paid in coin of gold_

_He'll chop and slice you_

_Cut and dice you_

_Eat you whole._

The blue silk that zmora is clothed should be bright as fresh forget-me-nots, but instead it bears dark splashes of blood. It's torn in places, the color muted, the fabric worn out.

There is a Mark on the pale chest, an _open amphora_ and smoke shaping into a _wolf’s head_. The medallion bearing a mirror image of it is cold and unmoving against Geralt’s chest.

Zmora’s are born in many ways. Soulmates meeting only for one side to choose another is supposedly one of them.

Geralt looks around - the cat is nowhere to be found, as if he still needed more proof.

Zmora steps off the bed, the lute gone as soon as it leaves their grasp. The ice-blue eyes are still on Geralt, who tries to remember all that he learned in his life, to find a way out of another explanation or just something to find a safe solution to this mess. Ciri is quiet, sleeping, but her face is pale and her heartbeat weaker than it should be.

Yet, she’s still alive. A week he was away should be enough time to suck her dry, leaving Geralt to fid only a corpse, but she’s alive and healthy, even if weakened.

So he says:

“Stay.” because it’s the only thing he can say.

Zmora - _Jaskier_ looks at him, head tilting to a side, blackened tongue darting across his lips. A moment passes, then a black cat land on the floor.

But it slowly stalks up to Geralt, rubbing at his legs with a melodic purr that rings in the air before it goes to jump onto Ciri’s chest. Gerlt slowly sits on the edge of the bed, reaches up to stroke soft fur and the cat - the zmora lets him, small head rubbing at his palm as bright yes close, coarse tongue licking at his fingers and a bushy tail swinging lazily.

It’ll have to enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I- I have no excuse for this. Just that the Lullaby of woe is LIT and everyone should go to listen to it right now. Also, Polish Zmoras are cool monsters.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohNpf4VnlP8 [My favorite version is this one.]


End file.
